Night Shifts Black(8)

I'm not nearly as pleased to see her. This can't be good.

I try to peek past her through the door, but I can't see anything.

"What's going on? Is everything ok?"

She bites her lip and glances behind her. "Not really, no." She leans toward me. "He's here and he's not good today."

"Who's here? Luke?"

I know the answer, of course I do; I just need more time to process it.

She nods. "If Ailee didn't know he was Luke Craven of Night Shifts Black, he'd probably be dealing with the cops right now."

"Really? Is he causing a disturbance? He's bothering people?"

"Um … no, not like that. But he's been sitting there for, like, a half hour."

"He's freaking people out because he's been sitting for a half hour?"




       
         
       
        
"He's … " she stops and seems frustrated that she can't explain. The thing is, she doesn't have to. I get it, and I wouldn't know how to explain it either. I realize it's better if I just spare her the attempt and agree to take over from here.

"I'll go see if I can talk to him."

"Really?" She is clearly relieved. "Thank you! We're all worried about him, you know."

I nod to be polite, but their concern doesn't mean much to me. They weren't worried until they learned who he was.

I go inside slowly, as if I'd startle him with a normal entrance. I know it's silly. My guess is he won't even notice me. He's probably not noticing anything right now.

I know exactly where to look after I'm inside, and when I see him, I completely understand Shauna's hesitation. I'm not sure how you'd describe the scene to make it sound as disturbing to the ear as it is to the eye.

It's about the chair again.

This time though, he's in it, seated casually, like he's enjoying a relaxing meal with a companion. The problem is, he's removed it from the table and placed it in the middle of the aisle. There is no companion. No meal. No silverware, napkins, or table. Just Luke in a chair, in an aisle, sharing a silent conversation with a pretend person. It is disturbing, incredibly disturbing, especially for someone who's begun to care about this person.

He doesn't acknowledge me as I move toward him. I don't know if it's because he doesn't see me or just doesn't care that I'm here. I was so sure I had to help a moment ago, but now, faced with the actual problem, I don't really know what to do. I sense speaking isn't the right approach and will just turn a strange situation into a volatile one. Instead, I decide to simply join his world like I'd done many times now, and figure out how to navigate it once I'm inside.

I take a chair from the neighboring table and position it across from him in the aisle. I can feel the gazes of the other café patrons, but I don't care about them right now. My fear quickly bleeds into sadness as his eyes meet mine. He's not crazy. He's not far away in some alternate universe. He knows exactly what he's doing, where he is. He's just broken and lost and doesn't care if he's bending the rules about how to behave in a restaurant.

"Did Shauna call you?" he says finally.

I shake my head. "She doesn't have my number. I came on my own."

He nods and leans forward, resting his head in his hands. I think he might be crying, but he's not making any sounds so I can't be sure.

I move my chair closer to him. "Hey, you hungry?" I ask gently. It's a pointless question, but it's sound and it's safe. 

He shakes his head.

I still can't see his face, and now I know it's time. I can't hold back anymore and have to take the risk. Friends take risks for each other, and goodness knows I've played it so safe up to this point that we still aren't friends. I lean forward and easily cover the remaining space between us. When I touch his hands they are warm, like I thought, and so are mine. I expect him to recoil, maybe even snap at me, but he doesn't. He lets me peel his fingers away from his face and grip them. I can feel the ring against my palm and squeeze harder. He looks at me then, searching my eyes, and I catch my breath at my own glimpse into his soul. There's so much depth, so much pain, I'm paralyzed for a moment.

I don't know which one of us pulls away first. It's probably him, but I react fast enough that it can be construed as mutual. He rubs his face and closes his eyes. I know I'm watching him recover from something, putting himself back together, so I just wait for the process to complete. Finally, he sighs and leans back.

"We should order something, huh," he says.

"It would be the polite thing to do," I agree.

"Probably at a table though?"

"Well, it would be a lot easier."

He smiles, and I return it.

"You must think I'm insane."

"I definitely don't think you're worried about restaurant etiquette."

This time he laughs, and I can almost feel the entire café collectively sigh with relief. Crisis averted.

I signal Shauna and point to our usual table. "Is this ok?"





Day Six: Part II.





"You know they were ready to call the authorities on you," I whisper.

"I was a rock star for seven years. You think I haven't been acquainted with 'the authorities?'"

"Oh right. Street cred and all. You get that ink in prison?"

He smiles before he leans back and closes his eyes. I don't know what kind of silence this is, just that he needs it, and commit myself to respecting his retreat for a while. We have returned the chair to its table, and this time I'm pretty confident Ailee will leave it unoccupied during the duration of our visit. Unlike many of her customers, she is probably a Night Shifts Black fan. At the very least, she is a fan of famous, rich people.

I glance around and notice there are more guests than usual. I would have expected the opposite, given Luke's behavior a few minutes ago, and now, I can't help but fear word is beginning to spread about his presence in our city, at this café. I don't want them to know about the chair. I don't want his suffering on display and wish I could figure out a way to explain that to him. I'm suddenly wrapped in a sense of urgency to solve this chair problem before it destroys him.

"You know how sometimes you feel like your life isn't yours," he muses out loud. "Like you go through the moment, but it could be happening to anyone, not you?"

I do know that feeling. I nod, but don't speak.

"That's been the last year for me. Every second of every day. I could recite any detail you want, but I can't tell you a single thing that's actually transformed me or made an impact. It's like this is all happening to someone else and I'm really in a whole other place right now."

I'm quiet for a moment. He's not looking at me, and I know exactly what he means. Not just because I can relate, but also because I'd had the same terrible suspicion about him since our first conversation. He's here, but he's always somewhere else, too. The rare magical moments are the ones where I actually have all of him for a brief second.



       
         
       
        

"Is it the same reason you lost your music?"

He's staring at the door now, and I wonder if he's going to answer my question or flee again.

"Yes."

"Your wife?"

He glances at the ring. I do, too. He touches it. I want to touch it, too, but don't have the courage.

"I shouldn't have asked that. I'm sorry."

When I look at him, I suspect he is also. He's not a bad person. At least, he isn't now.

"Nothing personal, right?" he replies with a weak smile.

I return it and nod. "Right."

It's quiet again, and I think I've lost him. He's gazing out the window now, past our table, the aisle, the chair. It's almost like he's looking for something, maybe someone, but it's the same haunted expression he has when he gazes at the chair. It has to be the same ghost, and I want to help him find it more than ever.

"I didn't used to be this way," he continues, still staring past the present. I'm not sure what he's referring to, nor am I sure he's even talking to me. His tone is somewhere between an apologetic confession and personal criticism. I can't begin to respond, so I wait.

"I used to be the life of the party. Heart on my sleeve. I used to be silly."

I can't imagine him being silly. I'm not even sure what he means by that. "We all change. Life changes us."

"Yeah?"

"I like to believe that anyway."

"Ok, that's fair." He's being polite again. He doesn't agree with me.

He's right of course. We don't all change. Life doesn't force it equally. We don't accept it equally either. I was just trying to throw something out there to reassure him, and now realize how pointless that was. He's too perceptive to be reassured by statements that don't mean anything.

"What about you? Has life changed you?" he asks.

"Yes."

"The insurance settlement?"

I can't look at him. It wasn't exactly an insurance settlement. I wonder if he knows that as well somehow. He can't possibly, but then, I've underestimated him since the moment we met.

"Kind of."

He nods, but doesn't push for more. He guards his secrets and he's not a hypocrite.

"So where do we go from here?" he asks.